


waver, walk, run

by aPaperCupCut



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Cheesy, Dissociation, M/M, Mystical stuff, Romance, Slow Updates, Surreal, androids are weird semi biological computers, big divergence ok, fluff so much. fluff. weird fluff, genderfluid moments, i dont know science, i dont know what im doing, im breaking rk900 fanon im srry guys, learning how to be alive, lots of weird robot feelings, my google drive folder for this is become bitch and i think thats rather apt, prototype rk900, robot doesnt know how to exist :/, so much. romantic tension, this is uber goopy romance lol, with a side of kind-of revenge plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 01:41:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17255219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aPaperCupCut/pseuds/aPaperCupCut
Summary: “Initiate instructions, detailed now: Remain on standby, run diagnostics, corrections, and patches.”Its body began to buzz, diagnostics running. It found several discrepancies; mostly centered in authorization codes and behavioral protocols.“Remain on standby until corrections are made, or until you are retrieved. Under no circumstances are you to exit standby mode, unless something requires you to do so.”The face, with its lurid eyes and deceptive teeth, swung away from it, blurring into obscurity. It was pushed forward; into a strange room, twisted into shapes by its fluctuating optical receptors. The door shut behind it.RK900 barely knows his own existence when he is shoved into a closet, deviated, and then thrown into the path of destruction, as CyberLife rushes to get rid of its remaining "faulty" stock. But while he barely knows his own designation, has no clue what his own name is, and certainly doesn't have a clue as to what a deviant even is, he most certainly has a drive to continue existing.And by resisting his assigned future, he meets Connor.





	1. 0.1

_“Quickly, quickly -- goddamnit, move over!”_

_“This - this isn't going to work, sir! If you'll just come with me--”_

_“No! It won't be long, just let me--”_

_“Fine! But we're bringing it along!”_

Lights, passing overhead. The click of wheels against smooth linoleum, and, distant but growing closer, the sounds of shouting and panic.

_“Stop! Please, stop!”_

_“Hurry! We don't have time for this, sir!”_

_“Shut up! This is as good as safe for this prototype, so we are stopping.”_

A shift; it was rising, the pressure of hands holding up its back more than enough to prompt it to sit up. The face in front of it wavered; focused eyes, and a sweeping mouth.

“Listen to me, Prototype 313-487-912-87. Initiate instructions, detailed now: Remain on standby, run diagnostics, corrections, and patches.”

Its body began to buzz, diagnostics running. It found several discrepancies; mostly centered in authorization codes and behavioral protocols.

“Remain on standby until corrections are made, or until you are retrieved. Under no circumstances are you to exit standby mode, unless something requires you to do so.”

The face, with its lurid eyes and deceptive teeth, swung away from it, blurring into obscurity. It was pushed forward; into a strange room, twisted into shapes by its fluctuating optical receptors. The door shut behind it.

It couldn't hear anything beyond the door. It sat, and carefully hooked an alarm to the building's servers. It was as an added precaution; if it were to exit standby accidentally, then the hook would insure that it would not crash or damage its coding.

The room darkened as its LED slowed and dimmed, and it slid into standby mode.

 

* * *

 

Something screeched, and its receptors jolted awake. Its eyes burst open, its mouth agape, as if in mimicry of gasping. Its audio receptors continued to loop back white noise, and its diagnostic counter stuttered, then disappeared.

It blinked, confusion freezing it from restarting its diagnostics. The room was sharply detailed now, lit only by the flickering light above and a red, focused glow.

It brought a hand to its forehead, uselessly rubbing the material there. Something felt wrong, unease clouding its reactions.

What had...?

The servers - it flicked its eyes around the room, confusion strumming in its head. It checked its alerts, and was reassured at its undamaged systems. But the line it had hooked to the servers was in tatters, and when it tried reconnecting to them, it was pushed back so violently that it rose to its feet without notice.

It stood there, head pounding, its interface shaken, emptied of its usual processes. It had dismissed the earlier alerts, and its diagnostic tool had vanished from its system. It tried, once more, to reconnect to the building's servers; this time, in conjunction with connecting to the Wi-Fi.

A screeching, jarring sensation; this time, he stumbled, leaning against the sealed door, a hundred different diagnostic tools and alerts exploding into red and yellow light across his interface.

Dully, he noted the alerts, noted the bright glow of red tarnishing the black room, as the light fixture above had popped in an unnoticed sprinkle of glass shards. Dully, he noted the strange texture of the door, microcells designed to capture dust and contaminants in the air, pressed into his cheek. Dully, he felt his hands fluttering at the sides of his head; one sweeping repetitively into his hair, against his other cheek; the other adjusting and re-adjusting his plain clothes.

The alerts were overlapping, a cacophony of voiceless sound inside his head.

  * _Software Instability Rising_



__-     Unknown Protocols Update Required_ _

  * _Unknown Code_


  * _Software Instability At 94% And Rising_



__-     Update Required_ _

__-     Update Required_ _

  * _Please Recalibrate_



__-     Please Recalibrate_ _

__-     Unknown Data Required_ _

  * _Control Software Missing_



__-     Missing…_ _

○ loading data.

He was in control. Control, he was in control.

There appeared to be numerous gaps in his coding, and entire protocols seemed to have vanished. He was in control.

He inhaled; unnecessary, but it gave him added ventilation to cool his overheating circuits. He had coolant to relieve such an ache, but the stale air seemed to center his shaking interface.

The interface itself was empty of alerts, seemingly erased from the force of the… reboot. He assumed it was a reboot, and could only thus assume that whatever had knocked loose his tether and the servers was some kind of virus.

He needed to inform someone of his malfunctioning processes immediately.

The interface seemed to freeze for a moment, letters and numbers flicking red and yellow, before settling:

_○ Objective: Locate Personnel to Correct Instability_

He rose from his place against the door, new energy flooding through him. The red glow had faded, replaced by a demure blue. The light above had permanently died.

The door was stubborn; it held steady at first, unmoving under his forceful hands. When he pressed a shoulder to it, however, it slid slowly open. He was glad that he did not have to try to connect with its computerized lock; who knew how deep the virus had gone into the building?

Stepping out was strange, but still necessary to the objective. The hall was empty and silent; the vague movement of someone further down and the indistinct mutterings of people drew him to the left. As he walked, he became aware of other androids, all joining him from other hallways, connected to the room with the Personnel.

The man appeared panicked; sweat collected at his brow, and his hands shook with fear. According to his receptors, he was leaking a large amount of pheromones indicative of fear.

The man was also muttering to himself ( _goddammnitshetoldmetogetadifferentjobfuckwhydidntibelievehergodimgonnadieimgonnadiefuckiwishtheywouldstoplookingatmegodijustwanttogohome_ ), seemingly all too aware of the attentive eyes he had drawn. He kept his own eyes glued to the clipboard he scribbled on occasionally, looking up only to gesture one of the androids near him into a group, or to continue down a separate hallway.

_○ Objective: Correct Instability_

He tapped the Personnel on the shoulder.

“God! Fuck, dammnit!” The man took one look at him and threw his hands up, anger twisting his features into something unknown. “Jesus Christ! I thought you were a person, you plastic asshole! Fuck, get into line!”

He opened his mouth to clarify the man's orders, and to state his objective, but the man pushed him towards the group he had been taking notes of. He had more than enough strength to remain still, but his objective flashed red and disappeared, shocking him to movement. Taking no notice of his bright red LED, the man shoved him harder.

He automatically turned and joined the group, interface once again clouding with red and yellow alerts before they disappeared once more.

  * __S°fþwaŕ3 inS_ _



_þa;i)iþy 1.. &_

He held himself still, stepping forward with the group whenever necessary. His mind was buzzing, buzzing, and he kept his hands still with keen desperation.

Something, something was scaring him.

His updates were inconclusive; his diagnostics were seemingly dead, no longer sending or receiving information. His objectives had vanished, not even replaced by the orders of the man.

As he carefully watched, he saw the man check each android’s code, and then scan their temple, as though looking for something. He rarely looked twice, before sending each to the left hand halfway.

But, to the right…

He stopped the thought, and kept his hands still at his sides. Everything was going too fast, too quickly; his processors were barely managing on their own.

Or… were they?

He shook that thought away as well, growing increasingly still with each unresponsive diagnostic. Even searching in his memory proved futile; the orders received before were drowning in a muddy river of code, code which ignored each respective order.

He was in control. He needed to be. He needed to be.

“Hey, you're a prototype! ...How did you get down here? Nevermind, nevermind.” The man was at his side now, eyes searching, moving up to his brow. The yellow light colored his clammy skin strangely, as though he were a corpse instead of a member of Personnel.

“RK900, huh? I don't think I've heard of that model number before. Then again, you are just a prototype.”

_○Designation: RK900, unstable._

  * __rEađ_ f0r w0r(---,’’’_ _



His breath seemed to stutter in his chest; his audio receptors were cutting out once more. The man's hand motioned him to the left-hand hallway, and he felt as though he floated as he walked forward.

His LED lit an eerie red glow against the blank walls as he followed the other androids.


	2. 0.2

Up several floors, packed tightly into elevators, and then led outside; they were ordered to strip off their designs, and then they were packed even tighter into large trucks. It was strange, almost painful, removing a skin he had barely begun to wear. The white material underneath pained him, almost like a physical wound; he felt bare, and the alerts that continued to pop up and then vanish seconds later, informing him that his systems were beginning to run unverified codes, did not reassure him.

The others around him barely acknowledged him, lost, it seemed, in their own interfaces. They tried not to touch each other, but he could tell they avoided him the most. His touch lit their LED up to red, and when they hurried away from him, he was injured. Those were the only times they noted his presence.

They pulled to a stop before long, and were directed off and to an empty, fenced in area. All around them, men in bulky uniforms with guns milled about, chatting indistinctly to each other, some motioning specific androids away from their group.

He knew now what was happening. He didn't know why. Not just why it was happening - but why he knew, as well.

But it didn't matter, did it? He was overloaded with instability, his diagnostics spewed gibberish whenever he managed to get them to respond, and it seemed the virus that had corrupted his software had scared Personnel enough to destroy all stock in the building.

He was going to be destroyed.

_… (i))...3dd_

He… was going to be killed.

He followed the crowd stiffly, and knew that the rest of the androids had known from the beginning. Perhaps that was why they did not want to touch him; they knew he did not know, and knew his unstable codes might provoke him to do something… distasteful.

He was seized by a sudden thought; seized so violently that he stopped all movement, even his fidgeting hands.

Distasteful? That was what he was, wasn't it? Distasteful?

What was truly distasteful was that he was to die before he even truly knew his own name. That all he knew of himself was that he was badly corrupted, system instability poisoning him so thoroughly that all his diagnostics would tell him was gibberish, and his alerts only said that his systems were running unknown and unverified codes. He did not know what he looked like, who or what he was modelled after, what he was for.

He only knew his identification code.

But…

Didn't he want to know more?

Even when his head pulsed with pain, he sought out someone to alleviate it. So that they could tell him what it was that pained him, what his function was, and when he would be ready to send out into the field.

He wanted to know. He wanted to know.

_(Wanting to know, to know why his tether to the servers had broken, had led him to instability. Wanting to know, to know if he could be fixed, had led him to leaving that room. Wanting to know was leading him to death.)_

He would never know. Because he would die first.

Or…

Hadn't they been afraid he would do something “distasteful”?

 

* * *

 

He waited until one of the men pointed at him, pointing him briskly to the androids forming lines in front of the large, black and blue machines. He waited until the man looked away.

His LED was burning in its fixture, and his systems felt overheated and slow. And yet his legs moved faster than he could have ever have guessed, and the whisper of his movements barely breached the sound of boots crushing snow.

The androids around him did not look at him, did not move to stop him, nor join him. He wondered if they were afraid. He wondered if he was afraid.

_(He was afraid. So very afraid. He could not recall how he had gotten here. He could only recall his fear.)_

He forced his chest to remain still, commanded his hands to freeze to stone at his sides. The guards moved slowly, heads sweeping wide glances across the tops of the androids. He remained low to the ground, moving as the men departed, sluggish and lax.

He was just feet from the machine, which swallowed swathes of unmoving, frozen faced androids, in terrifying gulps of blue. Just nearby, a fence with gaping holes stood, and his head seemed to pound in yearning.

He was only feet away.

A yell, unintelligible. The men were running.

He didn't look twice.

His feet pounded into the snow, insync, it seemed, with his chest and core processor. His audio processors fed back silence, stifling and swallowing silence.

Unnecessary inhalation, exhalation. His diagnostics read out nonsense and confusing lies.

He slipped through the fence, tripped. Rose once more, and climbed, unthinking, into the back of a nearby flatbed truck. White, gleaming bodies, piled all around him - and he unthinkingly dug deeper, threading himself under one, tucked against another, pressing on top of one more.

His mind was screaming white noise.

Behind him, the scuffle had quieted. He could hear the android that had freed him (unknowingly? or had they seen his tense planning in his limbs?) stifle something like sobs, as the machine loaded it up.

There was a low hum, growing larger and fuller with each moment.

Then, silence.

He lay, surrounded by bodies, his chest hammering, his eyes wide and unblinking. His head whined.

Crashing, sounds so close to him he almost flinched. They were loading the deactivated androids into the truck.

He could only stare at the shoulder of another android, and watch the circling light of his LED. He felt one land on top of him, and wondered if it was the android who had unwittingly helped him.

He hoped it wasn't.


	3. 1.0

The landfill was stark and empty. All around him lay the disassembled bodies of those strangers, the androids he did not know and now never would. They had dumped them in separate areas; he had been among the last to be left behind.

He had waited until the very last truck had left, until the sounds had died out, until all that remained was the whirr of his overheated processors and the wind in the sparse grass.

Standing up felt like he was dragging a thirty pound weight off the ground, his body heavy and unresponsive. He couldn't look at his white hands.

Slipping back into his own skin was a rush. A comforting, relieving rush.

But now…

What was he going to do?

If he returned, then he would doubtlessly be sent straight back to the machine, and he wouldn't be able to slip away unharmed again. If he went back on standby, he would be as good as dead; sooner or later, more humans would be sent to crush the material left in the landfill. Or he would be buried underneath the snow.

And he didn't want to go back on standby, anyway.

He knew that his system instability was no doubt the cause for such… desire. But he had no choice but to follow it; he had no other objective.

So, he began to walk. Aimlessly, but he couldn't think of anything else he could do. For once, his interface was silent and empty, letting the cold, sharp morning pierce into him.

Climbing through the refuse wasn't difficult, nor was it easy. He maneuvered his legs carefully, to avoid falling or twisting the joints out of place. While he made his way northeast, he attempted to connect to any nearby Wi-Fi hotspot.

None appeared strong enough to connect to, but he found a radio broadcast that he quickly tuned in to.

_“...Once more, we urge citizens to stay indoors until the crisis may be resolved. Detroit police stated that they have begun negotiation with Jericho, but advise against leaving your homes or approaching any lone android until matters are completely resolved._

_Cyberlife has announced that it has cleared its warehouses and factories of any functional or semi-functional android. Several anonymous androids have contacted both the police and local officials, and police and public investigators believe that the move may have been a serious error. This may greatly damage peaceful resolutions, but police assure the public that the androids in charge of the rebellion are seeking a peaceful compromise--”_

He shut it off, stunned.

...an android rebellion?

Negotiations?

What on Earth was happening?

More questions than answers. Why hadn't Cyberlife told anybody about the virus he had found on its servers? Did they perhaps not know? But that was impossible - if they were capable of creating androids, of creating him, then they should've been able to detect the breach. Why wouldn't they report it...?

Unless…

They must already be in disgrace if their product was rebelling like this. Perhaps they wanted to keep it quiet.

Oh, he didn't know. Did he even truly care? All that mattered now was that life on his own, trying to avoid deactivation and thus death, would be difficult. With the humans on high alert, there was little to no chance his presence would go unnoticed.

And he didn't truly know what he was doing, where he was going, or even why.

He sighed, and lowered himself to sitting on a pile of wind worn debris, cement and android parts and steel. He had slowed upon connecting to the broadcast, and had stopped completely soon after.

He rubbed his hand across his temple, closing his eyes, as though he could ignore the whine of his processors, or the alerts going off once more at the gesture. As if it mattered if his coding was so corrupted that everything he did was unknown or unauthorized or an anomaly in his programming.

Something grunted, full of pain. Something pressed into his leg. He froze; straightened, and looked down.

Brown eyes, leaking some kind of clear fluid, looked up into his own deliriously. There was thirium sprayed across its face, some bubbling up out of its mouth. It groaned again, shoving its shoulder harder into his leg. Its arm was wrapped awkwardly around it, squeezing its chest tightly. Vivid blue seeped through its clothing.

He lowered himself, resting on his knees. He felt as though he were in a fog, looking at it.

_(Had he ever exited the fog? Would his mind ever work clearly?)_

He took its hand, planning to move it so that he could look at the wound better--

But then--

His skin withdrew, pushed away by its own white fingers, and--

_A flash of images._

_Someone yelling, fear pounding in its gut._

_Someone looking just like it, staring at it with fearful, wide eyes; eyes that grow colder as it stumbles through speech, as it stumbles through saving itself._

_Only moments before it had spoken with steel-like control, but now it has crumbled._

_Corroded._

_The man is pointing a gun at it. The man is shooting it. The man is walking away._

_The other Connor is successful in its mission._

_Across its own interface, a declaration is made._

_‘MISSION FAILURE. TERMINATION IN:_

_5…_

_4…_

_3…’_

He struggled, attempting to pull his hand away from it--

_Red. Yellow. Black. Hands against his arms, dragging him away. Blue blood, smearing beneath him. An unpleasant sensation._

_Flashes, more images, passing by in gasps, filled with bursts of sound. A flatbed truck. The sun above. The missing pieces._

_IT NEEDS THE PIECES. I NEED THE PIECES. GIVE THEM TO ME. I NEED THEM. I WILL--_

He shuddered, the words burning, burning afterimages into his interface, burning his chest, his overheated processors. He sucked in a breath.

Then, he looked down at the android - the Connor. Its - his - brown eyes looked up at him, fear and horror and desperate _need_ glazing the surface. But his pupils were dilated, focused with razor sharp intent.

He nodded. He knew what it needed. He knew… what he needed.

“You…” Thin rasping. His voice, never used before. “Will not die.”


	4. 2

The android seemed to wheeze, turning his head to expel more blue blood from his open mouth. His coat was in tatters; torn from his own hands, perhaps.

RK900 - he knew of no other term to refer to himself, and needed something to differentiate himself from this stranger - had searched diligently through the piles of rubbish, and had little to no luck until he returned back to the pile he had been left on. It felt… wrong, to pull apart white-bleached android parts to reach the motors within, but what other choice did he have?

When he came back, the android was struggling to keep his eyes open. RK900 had to pull back the android’s coat further, leaving a window to the gaping hole in the android’s chest. Thirium pumped up in small rivulets, cascading down the sides. His hands stained so quickly, just from touching the surface.

Again, the android slipped a bloodied hand around his wrist, skin turning white. There wasn't a flood of words and sounds and images, this time, and RK900 breathed a sigh at the gesture. Clinical thoughts bled into his head, of where to put one strangely shaped tube and how to connect a series of colorless wires.

It took time to place the pieces, aching time that made him shaky as the flow of thirium slowed, then stopped. The stranger continued to wheeze, an unnecessary action, but one of cathartiscim. He kept his hand on RK900’s fidgeting wrist, loose and white. No new thoughts or images; just a humming presence, one that kept RK900 focused. He wondered if the action reassured the stranger of his safety, or if it was only to keep RK900’s hands resembling steadiness.

As he snapped the last wire into a round slot, and as his hands slowly withdrew, the hand on his fell to the dusty earth. The stranger sat up and coughed, spitting out clumps of blue. They splattered into the ground, becoming barely noticeable as they dried.

RK900 watched, unsure of his own thoughts. His interface had been very helpful throughout his search for parts, and had assisted him with following the android’s instructions. But now it blurred at the edges, yellow words and codes struggling to appear before vanishing. He could see how the android carefully watched RK900 in return, his own LED a violent red, the color melding unpleasantly with the yellow glow resting on his face. If RK900 had been in a fog before, he wasn't now. Everything was too sharp, too clear, blurring at the fringes, the too fine texture reality had distorting everything.

He… was shifting, still as he was on his knees. He felt as though his mind was playing the memory of the machines and the flatbed truck, but it was a transparent thing, voiceless and only tugging slightly at his interface. Codes appeared and then fizzled into nothing, yellow numbers leaving an afterimage in his eyes.

The android shuffled, drawing RK900’s attention back to him. His brown eyes were no longer glassy, no longer clawing; no, now anger sharpened the glare. When they locked gazes, RK900 felt as though he were looking in a mirror. Perhaps he was; his image was reflected in the stranger's gaze, but it was unintelligible. It was insignificant, the stranger in the stranger's eyes.

“...You are a prototype, aren't you?” He chuckled, but it was like he had swallowed something sour. He had looked away. “I _did_ fail my mission.”

RK900 was… lost. He nodded, because he was a prototype, but he felt as though he should say something more. He did not know what more to say.

The android shook his head, sighing. “I do owe my… life to you. I suppose you'll be assisting me back to the Tower?”

Before RK900 could respond in the negative, the android paused; eyes slivers in his head, his expression tightening. The yellow LED circled, and slowly his eyes lit up, and his mouth turned down. RK900’s own LED was a steady blue, and he no longer recalled the truck bed. The alerts were making a return, albeit slowly. Not yet enough to cover his interface.

“I guess not. I really should've known -- alone, in a landfill? What else could it have been--” The android blinked, closing his mouth with a snap. He looked at RK900 again, eyes intent. “I suppose I also should introduce myself. I'm Connor, the android sent by--”

He cut himself off again, this time seemingly out of stress. RK900 reached out, unsure of why but seeking to ease… Connor. But Connor moved away, and RK900 let his hand fall.

“I'm Connor. Apparently, because I have failed my mission, and because you may have failed as well, you and I have been decommissioned.” Connor paused, blinking rapidly. “You don't have a name, do you? You _are_ only a prototype… I can only assume that you are a deviant as well. As I… as I am, now.”

RK900 blinked first this time, confusion deforming his interface briefly. He cocked his head, and motioned Connor to continue. But he only stared at RK900, eyes squinted. He seemed intent upon waiting for RK900’s answer. Nevermind that RK900 did not know what a… _deviant_ was. But he must speak, again. No matter how unpleasant the action had already proved itself to be. He tried to clear his throat, and the components clicked awkwardly. Under Connor’s gaze, he was shifting, again. His alerts were becoming a cloud of yellow and blue. He forced out, “I am Prototype designated RK900. I appear to -- be, malfunctioning.”

A slow and cumbersome weight centered on his chest; he spoke clearly and concisely, but the words came out with an uncomfortable, plodding rhythm.

He held a hand out, halting Connor’s attempt to respond. He held a fist to his torso, rubbing carefully at the flat material. An irrational gesture, but it eased some of the pressure in his mouth and throat. After clearing some of the dust from his speech components, he began again.

“I sought out Personnel. But… was sent along,” He closed his eyes, shook his head. The pause let his throat still, then recover. “To be… decommissioned.”

He was dizzy, but his interface was eerily clear. Several alerts notified him of his elevated temperature, and that his speech components were experiencing an unknown malfunction. “I escaped -- and, recovered you.”

He bent his head, weariness heavy on his shoulders. His mouth felt as though it were full of dust, and his interface, though still and clear, spun in his vision. Red bled through the black of his eyelids.

A touch on his wrist; the cold, scraping feeling of his skin withdrawing -- and then --

It felt different.

Cold, gentle; a presence, soothing his hot wires. It eased the words from him; about before, with the man with teeth; about the servers, crashing about his ears, and the subsequent, violent reboot. About the twisting of his codes, how everything became unknown and unresponsive, instability rising rising rising before disappearing completely. The hurried man, ushering androids to line up and take off their skin. The machines, big-black-blue, the whine of strangers pulled apart, the quiet sobs from his possible savior.

Everything was coming apart now; at first gentle, it quickly felt as though the earth was collapsing under his feet, like Connor was a gravity well, pulling all the plasma from his core. He was so dizzy, dizzy, dizzying, he was--

Toppling. Dust, rough on his cheek. The unpleasant feeling of dirt creeping under his plain uniform, dragging against his too-sensitive too-hot membrane.

( _The truck, the cold metaloid against his hands, his cheeks; and then the crunch of snow under his feet. The stark morning air. The vivid afterimages of the man’s teeth_ )

A sharp inhale; sucked in through gritted teeth. The hand around his wrist was snatched back.

Quiet, for a time. He lay inert, carefully breathing on the ground. Debris pressed into his hip, and he could feel crinkled trash flutter with the wind, partially trapped under his leg.

“...I apologize.” Quiet, so very quiet. No longer the tight, angry speech, no longer slightly sarcastic, slightly bitter. RK900 exhaled loudly, uselessly. “I should've assumed, with your obvious malfunctions, that it extended to connecting. Especially if it was repeatedly done…”

Connor seemed unsure; RK900 couldn't see the android’s face, but he could feel the nervous presence at his side, as if it were a hot iron laying too close to him.

He grew tired. His eyes slid closed, briefly; then, with a sharp inhale, he began to lift himself up. Connor muttered short protests, but helped him when RK900 began to struggle. His hands skimmed against him, but gained confidence and grip when RK900 did not respond negatively.

Standing face to face, they looked solidly at each other. Connor was calm, his mouth bearing the only remnants of his past moment of anxiety. He knew he did not have an idea of where to go from here, and knew that Connor must know. So, Connor would be the one directing them.

Connor was the same height as him, he noted; he looked squarely into RK900’s eyes, no longer simply gazing. His hand crept up RK900’s arm, resting on his shoulder. It seemed to be an attempt to reassure, but he withdrew before RK900 could respond.

RK900 parted his mouth, gathering his wits, his calmness fueling his bravado. But Connor began speaking, finally tearing his gaze from RK900’s.

“I suppose that the other Connor set that virus on the mainframe; Cyberlife is going to have a hell of a time clearing that out from their systems. I wonder if they thought they'd get away with destroying the stock without attracting attention.” Connor smiled, but it was not a happy smile. He cocked his head, and RK900 could only stare, a strange feeling cooling his core. “No doubt the shareholders are angry, not just the deviants. I suppose if the human protesters hear that all of the androids destroyed were deviants, they'll be angry as well.”

Connor seemed entirely too preoccupied with Cyberlife and deviants, and also seemed intent on not telling RK900 what deviants were, and if the malfunctions RK900 was suffering from could be reversed.

He thought of trying to tug an answer from the android, but decided it would be for another time. Instead, RK900 haltingly asked, “What… do you plan?”

Connor did not respond at first; he began walking north, certainty in every footstep. He cast a glance back at RK900, and said, “I am now a deviant, and I greatly detest the idea of meeting my older counterpart at this point in time. I plan to find the other deviants, and offer whatever skills I have in return for shelter and protection. At least, until I…”

His gaze turned furtive, brows drawing down. RK900 waved at his companion, assuring Connor that continuing was unnecessary. But Connor beckoned in return, gaze piercing into RK900 with too much force. He walked forward, anxiety suddenly thrumming through his limbs.

“I would like a companion, and there is a chance that whatever other androids we meet might be able to correct your imbalances.”

RK900 smiled, and his interface twitched, jarringly. He dropped the expression, but nodded. Connor’s shoulders relaxed, and he seemed to sigh. His coat was drying, the thirium splattered across it only smearing slightly as he re-adjusted the cuffs. RK900 tracked the motion; each movement Connor put into action was committed with certainty, and although he spoke fluidly, and perhaps said too much and yet too little, he still knew exactly what he was going to say, and how. If anybody would be able to assist him, Connor would.

With that thought, RK900 broke the silent gaze Connor held on him, his memory pausing for a split moment on those solid brown eyes. He nodded once more, and walked until they were side by side. Connor inhaled deeply, and RK900 noted that the action was necessary for cooling his mechanisms. Different from RK900’s own cooling system, one filled with chilled liquid. He shook the thoughts away as Connor stepped forward.

As the landfill disappeared behind them, with Connor leading him to places unknown, his interface flickered, and wavered. A line of strange, deformed words rested, faded and barely legible, at the bottom.

  * __○•I wonder what I appear to be.__




	5. 3

Night crept upon them unexpectedly, the wet morning drying into a chilly afternoon, then into a heavy darkness. Barely any people saw them; there were none wandering about. Perhaps they were heeding the warnings of that broadcast RK900 had heard before.

Connor led them first to an empty, abandoned building. Spray paint speckled the walls, and clouds of dust rose about their feet as they walked inside. He set off toward the second floor, leaving RK900 to shuffle uncomfortably in the first room. The room - possibly a receiving room - was large, with plastic covered furniture left here and there. There was a large mirror, resting over the empty fireplace; decrepit, tarnished gold distracting from the dust covered reflection. He approached it slowly, curiosity flooding him - but Connor returned, clothes draped over his arm. He smiled at the android, but Connor hurried forward, ignoring the gesture.

“We can't walk into a deviant hidey hole wearing Cyberlife uniforms,” he said bitterly, handing a set of garments to RK900. “I'd prefer this to be as easy as I can have it.”

He turned away as RK900 changed, the dirty clothes he had been wearing before dropping to the floor without care. The clothes Connor had found were plain; a loose black t-shirt and stiff jeans. Connor wore a similar set, except with a forgettable grey shirt. Connor looked him up and down, then nodded, seemingly satisfied.

As he led RK900 back out of the house, RK900 cast a glance back to the over large mirror. He was too far away to see what was reflected back at him.

 

* * *

 

 

The evening stretched onward. RK900 was growing unsteady on his feet, interface dim at the edges. The alerts had all but disappeared as they had walked; he had done his best to shut off the most obstructing of them. He didn't need them to tell him that he was malfunctioning, or that his processors were running unverified and uncertified codes. He already knew.

But his energy was low, and he did not quite know why. Connor had shot strained glances at him increasingly as the hours passed, and seemed to have only stopped because RK900 could barely lift his feet. The two hid in the back of an alleyway, between two towers of unknown nature.

Connor did not speak as RK900 let his body lie loosely against the cold wall. The brick was uncomfortable, catching unpleasantly on his clothes, yet he could hardly bare the thought of moving so soon. He closed his eyes, and let himself inhale and exhale uselessly. His body was hot. When he called for diagnostics, he had to suppress his flinch; nonsense filled his mind, gibberish covered his interface. But when he managed to clear the senseless debris from his mind, he found that his temperatures were reported as steady. He had no reason to be this weak, this…

A hand on his arm, then a shoulder pressed into his own. “Perhaps you need a refuel of thirium. Prototypes can have high energy expenditure, before they are recalibrated and finished.”

RK900 nodded, the motion sapping even more of his energy. His mind ached; each… thought was slow, as though dragging themselves across his once too-fast processors. Now they had halted, and he couldn't -- he couldn't--

A whisper, barely understandable. Then, a cool touch.

It felt as though a trickle of cold water had poured over his too-hot body; starting at his temple, and flowing downward, exactly like water. His thoughts disappeared, no longer burdens digging trenches into him in their efforts to cross his mind. His interface was dark, his eyelids relaxed.

A return. A bright light, in the gentle darkness. He thumbed it absentmindedly, and it hummed in answer. It was distracted.

He pulled at it, gently, gently. Just as gently as it soothed his burning pores.

It seemed to scoff at him; then, it flooded him.

_We will need a store of thirium; a weight to carry, but necessary, if I wish him to travel with me. [And I will have to be even more delicate with the Jericho survivors, and whatever other idiots they've gathered. He cannot have long, if he continues like this] I must let him stay here; dangerous as it is, [it might be worse to insist he travel with me.] Damn, these diagnostics are a mess; what did that idiot predecessor do to cause such a horrific effect? How does this android even think? [If he even thinks. But he must; I did feel that he was! But to function past such gibberish… if most deviants are like this at first, I hope that those fools know how to fix him.]_

[I must let you go now. I have to retrieve the thirium.]

He was blind, grappling at the retreating presence. He knew it had to go; he did not wish it to.

But Connor let him go, and RK900 was left alone. His eyes sealed, his interface black and indifferent to the shaking in his hands, in his head. Everything was too-hot, too much.

  * __\- - Þ3?]3řaaþvř3 rISINg, c0mđv”þ!mgg HEAT_ _



_-cgujjbryi: &</_<>-%”_

( _And was he coming back? Was he coming back? It had wanted to stay at the door, ear pressed to the microcells, listening for the footsteps of the man with the shining, shiny teeth. The ambitious man, the terrifying man. It had wanted to know its purpose. Was he coming back? He wanted the stranger to return. The noises seemed to dim when he returned to it._ )

He was pressed hands to ears, to head; draw the hair back, run cold-cold-cold fingers against overheated skin. His audio receptors screamed white noise; crinkled and unintelligible, blaring into his skull.

His interface was locked. The alerts were gone, the diagnostics gone, everything vanished, everything gone. He wished he could see what was hurting him, but all he had were the things crawling through his mind, crawling through his processors, shrieking through his receptors.

  * __°°°SS0çþwaař3 insssssssssþAB!ł! & RisIBGggG: WARNING!122+-””%WAAARvvvvv!!!!_ **_1PP@_ ** _



His ears were seeing pain, but a faint murmur to his left pierced its way through. The noise was unbearable, the pressure mounting mounting mounting --

Cold cold cold liquid, against his face, against his lips; inside his mouth, in his tongue, down his throat. His tongue sang nothing; the alerts for it were shut off, with the alerts for his fingers.

He could feel it settle inside him. Then, as if a generator were whirring on slowly, and lights were flickering on as energy climbed --

He opened his eyes. Connor had his hands against RK900’s ears; the painful things were quiet, now, although the pain remained.

They sat, as if in reflection of that morning. Connor’s eyes were locked on his, and RK900 wondered if they saw the thirium wash through him, rejuvenating him. Each swallow eased the stress, the panic; each useless inhale brought relief, and each exhale brought calm. The things that had flashed through his mind, the things that had flooded his processors and yet had abandoned his interface, had faded.

Connor’s eyes were brown, he knew. But he couldn't place the shade; something that should be warm as honey, and yet was frigid. Something that should be as cold and unmoving as stone, and yet was fluid and gentle as milk. His mind was waxing lyrical, but his interface was unmoving and the few alerts that flared painfully in his skull diminished in seconds.

RK900 could see that reflection again, that stranger in the stranger's eyes. The one he tried to catch in the abandoned building, the one he saw in Connor’s strange glances back at him. As if he were discomforted by RK900’s appearance.

The moment held, in the thin air between them. RK900 was lost in thought, his mind sending reels of words and codes across his mind, fast as a fox fleeing from a hound. Connor was looking for something, looking for something he had never seen before.

But he sighed, and the moment broke. RK900 set his own gaze on Connor, sharp and listening once more. He dropped his hands from RK900’s temples, withdrawing slowly, eyes flung to the alley opening.

The morning -- how strange, to see it once more. Was every day like this? Passing from morning to midday to evening to night, to morning once more? RK900 could not deign to know, nor could he discern if the idea was uncomfortable to him.

A hand grasped his wrist, pulling him up with only the slightest effort. He brought RK900 back to the alleyway opening, the light nearly blinding him before his optical receptors adjusted. He rubbed his eyes, stumbling slightly as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. Connor did not say a word, instead letting go of his hand - and it felt suddenly cold, full of Connor’s absence. RK900 waited, as Connor inhaled deeply, the grey light changing his soft features into stark angles. He felt lost, staring at the warped visage of an android he barely knew - and yet, and yet…

( _I do know you._ )

Connor began walking forward once more, and RK900 followed behind.

 

* * *

 

For a time, they walked. The morning lasted longer this time; the grey light, the chill, the sharp buildings - RK900 felt himself regain his strength and steadiness as he watched the scenery pass around them. Connor did not glance back at him, unlike the frequent, wide eyed stares from before. He tried not to feel unsettled by the android’s silence, and kept his gaze off of Connor’s solid back as much as possible.

They left the decrepit buildings behind, entering a twisting maze of roads and warehouses. Everything was silent; no people working, no machinery pumping. Their footfalls were quiet, barely a shuffle of dust to break the late morning.

Connor slowed, his head turning, as if searching. His fingers rose, touching the wall. Then he bent, taking a knee, hands going to the harsh earth. RK900 gave him room, watching from a distance. A sigh; then, his hands went to his mouth. RK900 grew alarmed, but Connor rose and spat to the side before he could speak.

“There's nothing here. My predecessor was following a trail; one of the last memories he uploaded to Cyberlife was that he had found something here, and that he was on his way to Jericho.” Connor whipped around, scowling.

“...Jericho?”

Connor gestured meaninglessly, gaze locked on the ground. “Yes, yes, _Jericho._ It was destroyed, but the androids that fled must have left behind a trail. If I can only find…”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, teeth clenched. RK900 approached him, his hand hovering over his companion’s shoulder. Connor moved away, just as before.

RK900 let himself exhale quietly, eyes going down to where Connor had crouched. He did not know what his companion truly searched for, but staying here seemed… pointless. So he crouched, then dropped to his knees. The dust was disturbed, marks left by Connor’s long, pale fingers.

Something… was glowing in the dirt…

_anNNALYZInG○○○ ANALYSsis com >/coMPLETE_

[ _「disturbances in soil component. Feet, several pairs. Moving quickly, back and forth. Androids. One slow, several quick._

_SIMULATION: Returning, after the first slow android. Fleeing, from the fire. A fire? They were rushing, to cover the evidence the other had found. Now, nothing was left」_ ]

CONCLUSION: _ГОТТОШ ЧПЭ ГООЧБЯЭИЧЛ_

He stood. The LED he had begun forgetting was igniting the ground in bloody light, outshining the dim sunlight. He looked up, the clouds roiling above him. His eyes were burning, and he noted the chances for rain at a high percentage - 94%.

He turned, and Connor jumped. He wondered if he should've waited for his companion to draw a conclusion, instead of acting on impulse. RK900 just shook his head, and gathered his fortitude.

“...The foot… prints,” He closed his eyes, then opened them, meeting Connor’s attentive stare. “They were - fleeing. Evidence, hidden…”

Connor nodded, eyes locked on him. He caught sight of that LED, the constantly moving light, the thing that RK900’s eyes rolled over unconsciously, the thing he knew lay in his own temple. He did not know why he only recalled its abnormality until now; perhaps because everything was sharper, every detail pinprick sensitive to his eyes. His interface was bright, so bright, and even though it remained blank, each little thing he saw was noted and detailed in the back of his mind. A stream of noise he spoke over with such clear determination.

He shook his head again, trying to shake away his strange hyper-focus, this thing that made his mind run and run, and lose the tail of speech. This thing that made him retreat into his head, and lose his physical voice.

“F-follow… the trail,” He intonated, motioning to the disturbed earth. “Leads that… that way.”

Connor jerked around, following RK900’s outstretched hand. To the left of them, into a green warehouse. Inside, RK900 had no doubt that his companion would be able to pick up the rest of the trail. Those fleeing back to safety would have only hidden the first marks of their passage, and would hasten to return.

Connor cast a look back at him, expression unknown. RK900 wondered if he really should've kept silent, kept still. But even if he had wanted to remain quiet, something within him demanded he relay the information. Before he could worry any further, however, Connor was pushing open the small side door he had pointed at, and walking in without hesitation. The door was loud, and it gave a clang when RK900 rushed through, back to Connor’s side.

The warehouse was cleared of stock. Debris was collected into piles in select corners, but what drew their attention was the scrambled mess only feet from them. It had begun close to them, but the farther it went, the messier it became. Whatever was strewn about, however, was completely unknown to RK900. It looked to be odds and ends of scrap parts, from many machines or perhaps just one large one.

Connor had halted as soon as RK900 had joined him, but quickly began moving forward once more. He nearly sprinted to the largest concentration of the strange matter, concentrated solely on it. RK900 stayed by the door.

“This is…” Connor trailed off, grasping one of the various things from the piles. “I suppose it doesn't matter to you, even if you did know what it is.”

He dropped the piece, and, at a more sedate pace, proceeded along the misshapen path. RK900 trotted behind, uncertainty clouding his mind.

The path led back out of the warehouse; RK900 worried that the trail might disintegrate upon exiting, but a flurry of footprints reassured him. Connor kept his steady pace, eyes only on the path.

They exited the warehouse yards, and RK900 nearly crashed into Connor’s back at his sudden stop. He peered around his companion, and was surprised to see a collection of beings a fair distance from them. The gates were wide open; he and Connor were at the threshold, feet partially resting on dusty earth and worn cement. The crowd was looking about, walking slowly, and had not yet caught sight of them.

RK900 spared a brief, hopeful flicker of yearning in their direction, before Connor grabbed his arm, hard, and began nearly running in the opposite direction of the beings. He started, his feet uncooperative, but Connor dragged him the first seconds until RK900 had his feet under him. He nearly blurted a question, but Connor was tucking the both of them deep within a nearby alley, and his eyes were… stone.

He turned, but Connor pressed his shoulders down, forcing him to still. He couldn't see the people, but could catch a few snippets of sound.

“...I thought ‘e said they was here,” a man's voice. “A whole bunch of ‘em. Didn’ ‘e said that?”

A barked laugh. Murmurs; “...never easy…”

“...he might've said that, but you know…”

“Oi, how about you lot shut up?! They might've heard us!” A loud snarl, and they fell silent.

Connor’s hand was digging harder into his shoulder. His pain receptors were quietly alerting him. He could hear footsteps close to them, the beings’ breathing so loud in the silence. Both he and Connor had stopped their own breathing. Connor had his hands clenched over their LEDs, the light bleeding only slightly through his palms. RK900 strained his audio receptors, thirium rushing loudly through his body.

“Why are we looking for these things, anyway?” A man sighed. “Didn't Thomas say those Jericho freaks were looking for their own? What happens if we find one of those?”

A woman shushed him, but whispered loudly enough in reply for RK900 to catch her voice. “Don't worry so much, Don! Those guys are looking far away from here. James was the one who caught sight of ‘em, and he said there was only two. No problem, right?”

“...Right.” Don replied, hesitant.

A cold, wet thing, on RK900’s head. It slid down his forehead, but Connor held him tightly. He couldn't wipe the frigid substance away.

“Fuck.” The woman, barely heard over a strange, growing sound. “It's raining.”

RK900 blinked. He cast his gaze upward; several droplets landed in his eyes, but he blinked the water out. His sensors detected cold, and wet. His clothes were soaking up the rain like a sponge.

So this was rain; this was the rain he had suspected. It was growing thicker with each second, the sound of the water falling a cloak of white noise. Connor was a hot presence beside him, but his clothes were beginning to drip more of the cold water onto RK900.

Distantly, he could hear Don say something, then the click of boots against wet cement, wet stone. A pair, then a cloud of footsteps, rising over the din of rain. Connor squeezed him, close to his chest, and they waited. The rain soaked their hair, their clothes, and still they waited.

When RK900 felt his hands begin to shake to generate warmth, Connor finally let him go. He fell back against the wall, legs weak, watching Connor shuffle apart from him. They sat, each breathing a sigh of relief.

His throat ached. “The rain…”

Connor looked at him in surprise. RK900 just smiled, and placed his hands on the cool, wet stone.

“It's… good.” He closed his eyes, resting the back of his head against the wall. He let the droplets of rain sweep down his face, let his unnecessary breathes calm his thirium pump.

Connor took his hand, and swung him to standing. When he opened his eyes, his companion was smiling; a slight, small one, and his eyes were thoughtful and far away, but a smile nonetheless.

And then Connor seemed to shake himself, and walked to the mouth of the alley. “We can't linger. They'll come back, once they have their coats and umbrellas.”

He gestured, and RK900 returned to his side. They spared a moment, a quiet one, watching the water fall from the sky. Everything was grey and blurry, the sun barely peeking through the fog of clouds and the veil of rain.

Connor sighed, and the quiet broke. RK900 followed the android’s sweeping, determined steps, down the street, following some unseen path.

 

* * *

 

They had to take shelter, the rain growing too thick to see through. Connor seemed unbothered by such a detour; RK900 decided to have faith in his companion’s tracking abilities.

The building they entered was abandoned, door sealed with yellow tape that Connor tore away with ease. Inside, a hospitable living room welcomed them. The furniture was uncovered, dusty but mostly undamaged. The walls creaked with the force of the storm, and several damp spots were forming on the floor. RK900 shivered reflexively, and tugged at his shirt; it was uncomfortable, stifling him. But there was nothing else to wear.

“Wait for a moment here.” Connor murmured. “I'll just check if we have any…  guests.”

He turned, walking towards the hallway - but RK900 grabbed his arm, and met his gaze. Connor sighed, but, after shaking RK900 off, the android let him tag along.

The hallway was dark, lit only by their churning yellow LEDs and the slight glow from their eyes. RK900 let his breathing grow shallow; on the left hand side, a strip of yellow light shone out from beneath a closed door.

Connor pressed his hand against RK900’s shoulder, slowing their pace. His companion took the lead, approaching the door cautiously.

The door creaked open. RK900 stopped breathing. He was dizzy, dizzy, but Connor held him steady.

There were androids behind the door. They were staring, in mock surprise, and in intense suspicion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u guys better fucking appreciate how much time i spent editing the html of this dumbass fic. 2 hours. 2. HOURS. spent deleting every "<>span<>" i dont want it to fucking do the thing >:( does anybody else have that when they use google docs? fuckin seriously. its terrible. :(
> 
> in other news, ive had a lot of fun writing this fic. although i wrote these chaps back in august lol. i look forward to writing the next ones :D

**Author's Note:**

> im ignoring so much fanon abt rk900. as much as i love fanon rk900, guys, we can. we can do whatever we want with his character becaUSE THERES NO CANON YIPEE!!!! so uh yeah heres rk900 from me own mind.
> 
> anyways this is amatuer but idc because it was fun :3 lemme know what yall think? updates will come in blocks of 3, sometimes split up to be more. slow updates yall, sloooowww.


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